


Water Come and Cleanse My Soul

by Triangulum



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Shower Sex, Steter Monthly Prompts, forest fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 20:30:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12020418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triangulum/pseuds/Triangulum
Summary: "This is miserable," Stiles groans. He's lying on the ground, spread eagle like his body will leech off the heat that way. "I can smell myself, it's so gross.""Believe me, we can smell you too," Derek says. Stiles flips him off."We can always save water and shower together," Peter says with a wink. Stiles flips him off with both hands.OrStiles and Peter have shower sex. This was supposed to be light-hearted but got serious?





	Water Come and Cleanse My Soul

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the September Steter Monthly Prompt of 'water'. I have another one that I may or may not post later in the month. 
> 
> There's a forest fire in this fic. My state, as well as Oregon, Montana, and California are all currently on fire in real life. Stay safe out there.

As far as the drought in California goes, Beacon Hills has been lucky up until this point. They're in the northern part of the state and they get enough rain that it hasn't been too much of an issue. This summer is brutal, though. At first Stiles had been convinced that something supernatural was going on, but no, it's just a whole lot of heat and no rain. 

Little brush fires have sprung up in a few places, though the Beacon Hills Fire Department promptly put them out. Derek and Peter are still on edge though, keeping Stiles' police scanner at the loft tuned to the fire station's frequency. They keep it low enough to keep the noise from bugging Stiles, but when it's this hot and he feels like his body is melting into the sofa. 

Stiles would happily be at home hiding in his air conditioned living room instead of on the top floor of the hot loft, but there have been reports of weird creature sightings in the woods and Scott wants them all ready to go just in case they need to hunt something down. No one is particularly happy about it, not when they're all covered in sweat thanks to Derek's barely functional air conditioning unit. Peter and Stiles have been bugging Derek to get it fixed, but he's been hesitant about letting anyone into the loft. He finally agrees that enough is enough when the knob on the old fashioned radio Derek keeps melts in Kira's hand when she goes to touch it.

"This is miserable," Stiles groans. He's lying on the ground, spread eagle like his body will leech off the heat that way. "I can smell myself, it's so gross."

"Believe me, we can smell you too," Derek says. Stiles flips him off.

"We can always save water and shower together," Peter says with a wink. Stiles flips him off with both hands.

"Guys, a couple of hikers say they just got chased out of the preserve by some small, devil-looking creatures," Scott says. 

"Who the fuck is hiking in 106 degree heat?" Stiles asks.

"Come on, we have to go check it out," Scott says.

"Are you kidding? Please tell me he's kidding," Stiles says.

"He doesn't seem to be kidding," Peter says.

"This is what we do! We keep Beacon Hills safe from threats and tiny little devil creatures seem like threats!" Scott says.

Stiles groans but rolls over and picks himself up off the ground.

"Sometimes I hate you," Stiles says to Scott.

He hates him even more an hour and a half later while he's picking his way through dry, overgrown brush in the preserve. They'd split up, Stiles getting paired with Peter since he's usually the only one that can stand him, and so far have found jack shit. Stiles is hot, sweaty, tired, and is in an absolute shit mood. He's half convinced that the hikers must have been delusional from heatstroke. 

"This is ridiculous, there's nothing here," Stiles says. He glances at Peter and even he looks overheated, his normally impeccable appearance marred with messy hair and a sweaty shirt. "Even you look gross!"

"Charming, as always," Peter says. "I have to agree with you, though. I don't see anything that implies something supernatural is going on."

"What then, we should head back to the rendezvous point?" Stiles asks.

"That's probably..." Peter cuts himself off as the wind changes direction, his head tilting up and nostrils flaring. 

Stiles is about to ask what it is, but then he smells it, too. The undeniable stench of smoke. A moment later he can see it, a hazy cloud of smoke rolling over a hill, the orange of flames following soon after. Peter's eyes cloud over in fear and he freezes. Stiles doesn't. He takes Peter by the hand and yanks him the opposite direction, sprinting as fast as he can back toward the main road. Peter stumbles at first, but seems to jerk back to himself and follows Stiles. Stiles knows Peter could easily overtake him, but he stays where he is, covering Stiles' back.

Stiles dials his phone as he runs, calling Scott and putting it on speaker.

_"Hey Stiles, I - "_

"There's a fire in the preserve, Scott!" Stiles shouts, interrupting Scott. "Get everyone out. Make sure Derek is okay. I have Peter."

_"We'll call you when you're out safe,"_ Scott says.

"Good," Stiles says. He hangs up and shoves his phone back into his pocket right when they burst through the treeline to where the jeep is parked. Stiles can't see flames, but he can still smell smoke when he and Peter jump into the jeep and speed away, completely ignoring speed laws. Stiles calls his dad next.

"Dad, there's a fire in the preserve! About a half mile in from the east entrance!" Stiles says.

_"Are you safe?"_ the sheriff asks.

"Yeah I'm good," Stiles says.

_"Okay, good. We'll get the fire department out there,"_ the sheriff says.

"Stay safe," Stiles says and hangs up.

Stiles glances over at Peter, unnerved that he hasn't said anything. Peter is holding himself very still, ash covering his clothes and smeared on his face. Stiles makes an executive decision and turns left at the light to head to his house, instead of right to head to the loft. Peter looks at him in confusion.

"I'm guessing you aren't wanting your apartment to smell like ash," Stiles says. "We'll clean up at my place."

"Okay," Peter says. He sounds grateful.

The sheriff isn't home when Stiles gets there, probably still at the station coordinating relief efforts related to the forest fire. Stiles lets them in, thanking whatever gods are listening that the AC is on, and leads Peter upstairs. He gets a text from Scott when the rest of the pack is clear and back at the loft. He answers before tossing his phone onto the bed.

"Come on, shower's through here," Stiles says, taking Peter's hand and tugging him into the bathroom.

Stiles gets a towel out from under the sink and sets it on the counter. He turns on the shower and looks at Peter, who's still looking a little lost. Stiles sighs and steps forward, touching Peter on the shoulder so he doesn't startle, then gently takes the hem on the bottom of Peter's shirt and tugs it up and over his head.

"What are you doing?" Peter asks, but he doesn't fight Stiles.

"Save water, shower together," Stiles says with a weak smile.

"I can do this myself, you know," Peter says.

"Yeah, but do you want to?" Stiles asks. Peter pauses, then shakes his head. "Yeah, I didn't think so. Shut up and let me be useful."

"You're always useful," Peter says. 

Stiles stills for a moment, then starts on Peter's jeans, unbuttoning them and sliding them down his thighs. Peter kicks off his shoes and socks before stepping out of his pants. Stiles takes his own shirt off, leaving it to Peter to decide if he wants to take his boxer briefs off or not. Stiles' vision is blocked for a moment while he struggles to get his shirt over his head and when he's free, yep, Peter's naked, watching Stiles undress with interest. 

Stiles blushes, but reminds himself this isn't a sexual thing, it's a comfort thing between two pack mates. It's hard to remember that when Peter steps closer though, crowding into Stiles' space. Stiles freezes, eyes wide, as Peter reaches out, brushing his fingers over Stiles' cheek. Peter frowns when they come away with ash. 

Stiles steels his nerves and fights away embarrassment and he takes off his own pants, kicking them aside. To Peter's credit, his eyes don't stray below the waist, which Stiles appreciates. It's been hard enough ignoring the impressive length between Peter's thighs, he doesn't know how he'd react if Peter looked at him. 

Peter doesn't need to be prompted to get in the shower, thankfully. Stiles grabs a washcloth before stepping in after him. Peter's eyes are closed as he stands under the hot spray, his front to Stiles. The water running down his body is dark with dirt and ash. 

Stiles wets the cloth and gently draws it across Peter's jawline, wiping away the ash clinging to his skin and facial hair. He rinses the washcloth and repeats the action, softly wiping away any trace of ash or dirt from Peter's face. Peter's eyes are open, watching Stiles intently and he moves down to Peter's neck. He expects Peter to tense at the very least, to shove him away with claws out at the worst, but he just shivers and tilts his head to the side, giving Stiles more room to work. Stiles swallows hard, and continues.

Peter's chest is mostly clean since he was wearing a shirt in the preserve, but Stiles washes him anyway, soaping up his collarbones and working down over his chest, down to his taut abs. Stiles valiantly tries to will himself not to get hard and quickly moves to Peter arms, scrubbing away the dark coat until the water runs clean.

"Turn around," Stiles says, voice hoarser than he'd intended. Peter looks at him for a moment, then obeys. 

Peter's back, like his chest and stomach, is also mostly clean, but Stiles washes him anyway before moving on to his hair. Peter sighs as Stiles massages shampoo into his scalp, tilting his head back and humming when Stiles hits a particularly good spot. It takes three rounds of shampoo before his hair is clean enough for Stiles to work in conditioner. 

Stiles is debating the logistics of washing Peter's legs (bending down eye-level with Peter's cock isn't going to do Stiles any favors) when Peter turns around and tugs Stiles under the spray, switching places with him. He takes the washcloth from Stiles and lathers it before tilting Stiles' head back and running the cloth over his cheek.

"You don't have to do that," Stiles says. "This was about you."

"I know. I want to," Peter says. "I don't want you smelling like fire."

Stiles swallows and nods. Peter's gaze is too intense, so Stiles closes his eyes, lets Peter wash his face and neck. When he leans his head back farther, baring his throat completely, a low growl emanates from Peter, making Stiles open his eyes. Peter's eyes are glowing blue, but his hands are gentle and claw-free as they caress the skin of Stiles' throat. 

It feels good to be touched like this, to have someone else's hands on his skin. The cuddling at pack nights is good, but it's not the same as this. This is careful and reverent, much more intimate than lying on the floor with a bunch of other people. He doesn't know if he's ever been someone's center of attention like this.

Peter washes Stiles' hair, massaging his scalp and making Stiles moan under his hands, before moving on to his shoulders and arms. His hands are gentle yet firm, scrubbing the stubborn ash from his arms with easy touches. Stiles' eyes are closed in pleasure, enjoying the soft touches as Peter runs the cloth over his chest and down his stomach. His hand pauses on Stiles' lower stomach and Stiles realizes with a jolt that he's half hard.

"I'm sorry," Stiles says, jerking backwards and getting the spray of water into his face. Peter tugs him out of the spray so he doesn't drown himself and Stiles keeps apologizes, blinking water from his eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I swear."

"Calm down," Peter says, taking Stiles by the hand and bringing it down between his own thighs. Stiles' mouth drops at the feeling of Peter's hard cock beneath his hand. Stiles' hand closes automatically, squeezing Peter's length. "I'm not complaining in the slightest," Peter says.

Stiles' mouth is dry and he has to clear his throat a few times before he says, "Are, uh, are you sure? I don't want to, I don't know, take advantage of your emotional state or whatever." 

"While that's admirable of you, I am perfectly in control of my emotional state," Peter says. He trails a hand down Stiles' stomach to brush against his cock, now fully hard. Stiles' breath hitches.

"Well, if you're sure, I'm not gonna argue," Stiles says. He tries to use a light and teasing voice, but it comes out a lot needier than he'd intended. Peter doesn't seem to mind.

Peter tugs Stiles closer until their bodies are touching, his hard cock pressing against Stiles' hip. Peter leans in, dragging his nose up the line of Stiles' throat, over his jaw until he's brushing their cheeks together. Stiles' breath is shallow and fast, because Peter is scent marking him, very deliberating and very intimately scent marking him, much beyond how he normally trails his fingers across Stiles' wrist when they pass each other.

Peter lets out a low rumble deep in his chest that has Stiles shuddering, reaching up and grabbing Peter's arms for support. Peter wraps his hand around Stiles' cock, making him gasp and grip Peter's arms tighter. He chuckles and nips at Stiles' ear.

"You're so good, Stiles," he murmurs. "So good for me. Taking care of your pack mate so well."

Peter grips Stiles' cock tighter, stroking him slowly. He keeps up his litany of words, praising Stiles for taking care of him, calling him beautiful, telling him how much he's cared for. Stiles is making small noises he'll be embarrassed over when they're done, but he can't hold them back, can't stop himself from whining as Peter coaxes his pleasure from him.

"Peter," Stiles gasps, trying to reach between them for Peter's cock, but Peter bats his hand away.

"Hush, this is about you," Peter says.

Peter moves his hand faster, brushing his thumb over the head of Stiles' dick on each stroke. Stiles' entire body is tensing up and he wants to hold off, wants this to go on for longer because who knows if it's going to happen again, but Peter's good at what he does and before long, the pleasure is building deep inside him and he knows he won't last much longer.

"Peter, Peter I'm gonna come..."

"That's it, come for me Stiles," Peter says.

It only takes a few more strokes until Stiles comes, body going taut as he cock spurts in Peter's hand. Stiles groans out Peter's name and lets his head drop forward onto Peter's shoulder, giving the other man easy access to nip and suck a mark onto the side of his throat. Stiles whines when he gets dangerously close to overstimulation and Peter lets go, pressing a kiss to the side of his throat.

Stiles wants to reach out, wants to slide to his knees for Peter, but before he can, Peter wraps his hand around his cock, using Stiles' come to slick to way. Stiles watches raptly as Peter jacks himself quickly. He's never been with someone uncircumcised before and he desperately wants to touch, wants to taste.

"Next time," Peter says, panting. "You can play with me as much as you want next time sweetheart, but right now I need...I need to mark you."

It's a second later that Peter is coming, painting Stiles' belly with his release. Stiles groans and if he could get hard again this quickly, he would. Peter closes his eyes and rests his head against Stiles', trying to get his breathing back to normal. They stay like that for a while, wrapped around each other in the steam of the shower, before Peter maneuvers Stiles under the water, rinsing him clean, then doing the same to himself.

Stiles expects awkwardness as they climb out of the shower, but there is none. They dry off in an easy silence, bumping elbows occasionally in the small bathroom. 

"Is my dad home?" Stiles asks. Peter cocks his head to the side, listening for any heartbeats that aren't theirs, and shakes his head. "Cool, come on then."

Both clad in only their towels, Stiles leads Peter across the hall and into his bedroom. He digs through his dresser for a moment before tossing a pair of sweats and a shirt to Peter. 

"I figured you don't want to wear your other clothes until we wash them. The sweats are big on me so they should probably fit you," Stiles says. He blushes a bit when he adds, "The shirt is yours. It's the one your lent me after the whole naiad thing."

Peter raises his eyebrow and brings the shirt to his face, inhaling deeply. He smirks.

"It smells like you," Peter says.

"So sue me, I may have been wearing it as a sleep shirt," Stiles says defensively.

Peter shakes his head fondly and pulls the long sleeved v-neck on. 

"You'll notice I'm not exactly upset at the idea," Peter says. 

"Oh," Stiles says. He really wishes he could stop blushing.

Stiles tugs on a pair of flannel pajama pants and an old police academy t-shirt and when he turns, Peter is standing right there. Stiles startles, not having heard him move, but Peter grabs his elbow and makes sure he doesn't trip over his slippers. The look Peter's giving him is more unreadable than usual coming from Peter, but he doesn't seem upset. He quirks his lips up in a small smile and leans forward, pressing a kiss to Stiles' forehead. Stiles closes his eyes and leans into Peter's touch with a sigh.

"What now?" Peter asks.

"I'm not going back to the loft, I don't care what Scott says. That was enough excitement for today," Stiles says. "I was thinking Chinese food and cuddling on the couch while watching shitty movies."

Stiles braces himself, waiting for Peter to sneer at the idea of _cuddling_ , but he just hums and nods his head.

"Sounds good to me," Peter says. "You start the clothes, I'll order."

Stiles blinks, a bit surprised at the easiness of Peter agreeing with him, but nods and head back to the bathroom to gather their dirty clothes. He'll probably have to wash them a few times to get them fully clean, but he's not too worried. When he makes it down to the living room, Peter is already lounging lengthwise on the couch, his back against the armrest. There's a bad 80's buddy cop movie playing on the TV.

"Kung pao chicken, fried rice, and broccoli beef have been ordered," Peter says. "They said forty-five minutes."

"Okay," Stiles says.

Stiles doesn't wait for an invitation. He climbs onto the couch between Peter's legs, resting his back against Peter's chest and squirming around until he's comfortable. He yanks the blanket from the back of the couch down and settles it over them while Peter wraps his arms around him. Peter nuzzles the side of Stiles' head and takes a deep breath before relaxing fully. 

"This isn't gonna be weird, is it?" Stiles asks a few minuets later.

"No," Peter says, tightening his arms around Stiles. 

"Okay," Stiles says. 

He doesn't want to poke at something he doesn't have to. He's comfortable, he's safe, and until Chinese food gets here, he doesn't have to move a muscle. Peter's thumb is rubbing softly over the skin of Stiles' forearm and something so simple shouldn't be soothing, but it is. Stiles hums happily and lets his eyes close, content to doze with Peter until the delivery driver comes. 

"Thank you," Peter says softly, right before Stiles drops off to sleep. He thinks he feels Peter press a kiss to the top of his head, but he isn't sure.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [ tumblr ](http://www.hotpinklizard.tumblr.com).


End file.
